


almost wishing to die

by Someonewhosfunny



Series: a man so unafraid of death [1]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 05, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 04:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Someonewhosfunny/pseuds/Someonewhosfunny
Summary: Tommy is a man familiar with grief. And drugs. But one man can only take so much. Even if he's already broken. [[Spoilers for S5]]“What does it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” Oscar Wilde





	almost wishing to die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katiewinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiewinchester/gifts).

> Wrote this after S5E3 because I couldn't get this idea out of my head, but after 2 weeks of dreaming about this and S5E4 making my dreams more of a reality, I really needed to share this with the world.

The violent scrape of a blade against solid metal was the only sound coming from Tommy’s dimly lit study. The fire blazed in front of him, providing the sole source of light amongst the dark wooden surfaces. Tommy had drawn the blinds earlier, shielding himself from the grey light spilling outside. It was nearly morning. Blackbirds chirped intermittently, but Tommy knew it was too early for that now. The sound was in his head, an insidious side effect of the opium. And the booze. Always the fucking booze, Polly had said.

The blackbirds’ cry eroded against Tommy’s last nerves until he could feel them physically snapping inside his brain. Like the bloody shovels all over again. Tommy dropped his tools on the table and snatched the crystal glass next to him. He didn’t register the fluid movement of his arm until the glass was smashing against the bookcase. A ringing flooded his ears in the ensuing silence. Tommy scrubbed a hand over his face harshly, digging his nails deep into the hollows of his cheeks. A desperate breath clawed its way out of his body and the burning in his chest made him realize he’d been holding it. One of the logs on the fireplace shifted and the sharp crackle had Tommy jumping out of his seat. His hands trembled uselessly as he filled another glass to the brim with Shelby Company Gin. The glass clinked against his teeth as he knocked the fluid back tastelessly.

The bullet in front of him caught the light, taunting him from its place on the table. Tommy lifted it up to his eyes. Without his glasses, the letters blurred together, but he need only run his fingers over the surface to understand the name of the recipient.

Lizzie had gone to Arthur and Linda’s with the kids yesterday evening after another pointless row. Something about the shit Tommy didn’t tell her or maybe the shit he did tell her. He couldn’t distinguish one conversation from the last. Ever since she’d written him that fucking letter, she’d been setting his teeth on edge. Was it too much to ask that his own goddamn wife fucking listen to him once in a while? Nobody fucking listened to him anymore. Not even the voices in his head, who he begged to leave him be for just one night. There was only one voice he wanted to hear and, God, he’d give anything to hear it. Give his heart and soul. Give his life.

Tommy rummaged through his pockets, growling through his teeth when he found them to be empty. He crossed the room in frustration and started turning out the inside of his lazily discarded jacket. Something smooth brushed his fingers. Tommy felt a spike of anticipation flare in him when he closed his hand around the small vial. He brought it to his mouth and bit the cork off with his teeth. Warmth spread down his throat and into his chest as he swallowed the drug. Tommy closed his eyes and tipped his head up to the ceiling. He counted the rise and fall of his chest until a voice echoed through the empty room.

“Thomas?”

A sigh passed through his parted lips.

“Grace.”

He opened his eyes and saw her striding across the big room with her lip worried between her teeth.

“You’re always alone, Thomas. Why are you always alone?”

“I’m never alone,” he countered, tired smile curling at his lips.

“Where’s our boy, Tommy? Where’s Charlie?”

Tommy dropped his gaze, avoiding the inevitable disappointment in his wife’s eyes. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and took his time lighting up. In the silence, Tommy inhaled deeply, letting the smoke wash over the guilt constricting his lungs. Until a delicate hand over his own pulled the cigarette away from his mouth.

“You’re worrying me.” 

Tommy shook his head, taking a last drag before snuffing his cigarette out on a nearby ashtray.

“You don’t need to worry. It’s alright.”

“I always know when you’re lying,” she sighed, pulling back to look at him sadly. “You’re getting worse every day.”

“It’s alright, Grace. It’s just the voices.”

He leaned forward to brush a stray piece of hair off her porcelain face.

“Tell me who you hear, Thomas.”

“Same fucking thing all the time. None of it matters, it’s all shit. I just need you, telling me what to do, what to fucking do.”

“You have me,” she promised.

Tommy turned away, hands shaking.

“I need you with me. Not just when I take the fucking laudanum. Every day. I need you, Grace.”

Tommy’s eyes were frantic as he held her gaze intently.

“It’s too fucking…,” Tommy clenched his jaw as his voice wavered. “I can’t do this without you.”

He felt a drip from the tip of his nose and rushed to wipe his wet face. Tommy ground his fists into his eyes in frustration, desperately trying to stem the flow of tears before he really lost it. A pair of familiar arms pulled him close and he buried his head in Grace’s chest instinctively. Tommy choked on soft, shaking sobs as his wife cooed softly in his ear.

“It’s alright, Thomas. I’m here. Whenever you need me, I’ll always be here. You’ll never be without me.”

Tommy allowed himself to be held until the sobs quieted and ice cold resolve washed over his body. He steeled himself before pulling away painfully.

“Forgive me,” he begged, eyes earnest as he backed towards the small table by the fire.

He maintained eye contact as he palmed around for the lone bullet. Slowly, he pulled his gun from the holster against his ribs and loaded the weapon carefully, as if trying not to spook one of his horses. The room was silent and the crease between Grace’s eyes deepened before smoothing out in disbelief.

“Tommy, no,” she whispered, bringing her hands to her mouth. He cocked the gun.

“Thomas, don’t. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy pleaded.

“I have to.”

“You fucking bastard,” Grace screamed at him, tears welling up in her eyes. She charged towards him.

“Don’t do this to your family. To Charlie.”

“I’m _doing_ this for fucking Charlie,” he snapped.

“D’you think this is what he needs?” Tommy brandished his gun towards himself. “A fucking father with a broken fucking head!” 

“At least he’d have a father,” she countered. “You’ll make him an orphan, Tommy.”

“Better an orphan than this, Grace. Better than being scared of his own dad.”

“I will never forgive you,” Grace promised. Her expression was steel and her eyes were alight with fury. “If you do this, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, defeated.

Tommy let himself drop to his knees, not trusting his legs to keep him upright for this. He could still hear Grace pleading with him, but the sound was muffled. Like his head had been dunked in fucking water. He closed his eyes and pressed the cold metal flush to his temple. The feeling was familiar and, not for the first time, a relief. Tommy drew a full breath into his lungs.

“In the bleak midwinter.”


End file.
